Page 13 of All In

“Enough about that. Tell me, what in the world are you doing here?” I ask, trying to keep my voice playful. “You didn’t even give me a warning that you were coming.”

“Sorry,” she says, looking contrite. “I really missed you, and I needed a break from Vegas. Some stuff happened with my roommate, and I had to get away for a while. Can I stay with you for a few days?”

There’s a weird wobble in my stomach.

Sometimes omegas pick up on the emotions of those around us.

I’m not sure if I’m picking up her discomfort or my own. My impulses think of this apartment as my nest, and as catty as it sounds, I don’t know that I want anyone else around.

She’s also my sister.

“Yeah, of course. You’re more than welcome,” I say, forcing a smile that I hope comes off as sincere. “I do have to work tonight, though. So, I won’t be around to hang out.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “The drive kicked my ass.”

“You can nap in my room while I get ready for work.” Honestly, it’s that or the couch, since this is a one-bedroom apartment.

“You’re the best, Laken.”

I love my job.

I really do.

Not even the crappy tippers or the groups that ask for a different thing every time I swing by their table, instead of making a comprehensive list, can ruin a good night for me. The fact I have a closing shift tonight, followed by an opening shift tomorrow morning, could threaten to ruin my bliss, but it’s the nature of the beast when working in restaurants.

I’m beat, my feet are sweaty from the sneakers my job requires, and I might have to share my bed with my sister if I can’t figure out how to kick her out onto the couch.

Some days are definitely crappier than others.

I balance the take-out box of chicken tenders and cheesecake in one hand while trying to get my keys out of my bag with the other.

My eating preferences have a lot to say about my state of mind.

I needed comfort foods all the way.

My head tilts as I try to parcel out what that sound is that’s coming from the stairwell.

It could be a herd of drunk frat-bros or possibly elephants.

No.

It has to be at least three or four guys coming up the stairs, based on the sounds.

I frown.

It’s not that I live in a terrible building, but it’s not like I can afford a doorman, either.

They don’t head up another level, and my panic rises as they approach.

I keep my head down, frantically digging in my purse for my keys.

It dawns on me a half second too late.

I shoved them into my sweater pocket so I wouldn’t have to scour my bag again once I got upstairs.

I move to grab them, but one of the guys grabs me.

“Is that Lyra?”

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